Athena
by arrogantbullyingtoerag
Summary: There was not a witch or wizard alive who did not know Harry Potter's name, but not a one of them cared to remember the Potters' cat.


There was not a witch or wizard alive who did not know Harry Potter's name, but not a one of them cared to remember the Potters' cat.

It was a strange set of circumstances that brought the longhair to Mr. Evans' place of business during the Summer of 1976, and while it most certainly had nothing to do with magic, the shop keep—taken by the idea—would insist upon the fact for years to come. "She'll fit right in," he told his younger daughter that evening, and (surprisingly) did not mean with the two of them—what with their colouring and all. When the girl inquired as to where, her father was all but taken aback. "Hogwarts, of course," he told her, as though it were simple, "Must've been what she was looking for—cats like this don't belong in Cokeworth." He gave his daughter a significant look, then, and Lily understood that the cat was not the only one of whom he had this opinion. Far be it from her to understand what he found so very magical about this particular stray, but the sixteen-year-old had required another to tell her that _she _was special also, and so took her father at his word.

Named for the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athena made a home of Gryffindor Tower. She became a constant source of comfort for the redhead; a reminder of home, if nothing else, and a good friend at that. Mr. Evans inquired after her often. _Nothing to report, _his daughter wrote him in the Autumn, _except that the company she keeps has me questioning her name. _It might well have been that the two had bonded over equally unkempt hair, but whatever the cause, Athena had taken an unseemly liking to one James Potter. (On more than one occasion, in fact, Lily overheard his friends remarking upon how easily _this _ginger had fallen for him. Sirius had a few choice synonyms to add, as well, but those were best suited to a later time-slot.) If not by her side, the cat was at his heels, and—worse yet—the insufferable toss was fond of her, too! Certainly the Quidditch Captain was one of the first to discover that petting-behind-the-ears was not (and would never be, much to baby Harry's bemusement) Athena's _thing. _(In fact, it might have been from observing James that Lily learned to scratch Athena beneath her chin instead, but that was something to which she would not admit for years to come.)

As time went on, however, Lily came to not question her cat so very much. In fact, soon enough, she found herself envious of the ease with which Athena curled up beside the boy. She longed for the comfort of his hands upon her spine, his fingers in her fur—_hair. _(At times, the redhead wished that James would go and get himself a bloody girlfriend already, if only because being jealous of a peer seemed much more logical than being jealous of her cat. Besides, her father was beginning to worry over the way in which Lily addressed the ginger. He had assumed _minger _and other such language to be reserved for humans.)

When the two finally made room enough for one another in their lives (it was remarkable how much space _pride _could occupy), Athena had no complaints. She slotted herself quite comfortably into the void their stubbornness had once filled, and revelled in the attention which had long been afforded the area. James' ego remained, of course, but it had shrunk just enough for Athena to stretch out her neck and receive a stroking whenever Sirius came by. They were happy, the three of them. And when Harry came, they were happier still, if not restless, locked away from war and world in Godric's Hollow.

Until the war came to them.

Athena was there, of course—as always—as enthralled by James' game as baby Harry. She bounded back and forth after the puffs of coloured smoke as they fell towards her, never quite being able to attain them, and earning a laugh from Lily for her struggles. And then they were gone, their presence replaced by light and sound and _something_. At first, Athena imagined the _green _of their Entrance Hall to be a continuation of James' game, and so bounced happily into the receding light. A stranger's cloak trailed up the stairs; James did not follow.

She understood.

The longhair pawed at the cracks in the man's glasses, bumped her nose against his, and—although aware (if nothing else) by the positioning of his neck that one was not to come—waited quietly for a response in any case. Lily was screaming upstairs, but Athena stayed. She buried her face against James' chest, dug her nails into the soft cotton of his T-shirt, and wished the man had been alive to flip her ears the right-way-out. The world was so _loud._

And then it wasn't.

Lily lay sprawled uncomfortably before her son's cot, and—for the very first time—_blended _into the stark backdrop of Harry's nursery. The woman was _red_, you see, and always had been; a welcome relief to an increasingly bleak existence. She _stood out_, that is to say, but here the world was green and black and so was she. Quiet, too—still, and sad. The room did not feel like it once had, to be sure, and nor did Lily. She nuzzled a moment within the young mother's hair, but the woman smelt strange. _Different. _The love had left her, Athena knew; it sat confused and crying not two feet away.

_Harry._

He reached for the ginger through the bars of his cot, and the cat let him bury his tiny fingers in the scruff of her neck and drag her through the gap. He held her too tight, of course, but neither parent was there to correct him. _Harry, sweetheart_, Lily would have said, or _kiddo_, if it was James, but as Athena could say neither, she merely allowed the boy to squeeze her stomach tight and wipe his snotty face in the crook of her neck. They had been her parents too, and so the longhair stayed with him until Hagrid arrived.

He, like Voldemort had, and like the world soon would, forgot about Athena. The great oaf scooped Harry up out of his crib without a care for the cat, and quick as that, the last Potter left her.

Sirius, too. Too taken by his own grief was Sirius Black to notice his best friends' cat, her fur a mess of his godsons tears. James' scent, Lily's hair, Harry's _snot_—she was as much a part of them as always, yet still the pureblood left her behind.

Even with her ears inside out, the world was silent, then.

Alone, Athena curled up against the mahogany bars of Harry's cot, spent some time in the crook of Lily's neck, and a good while beneath James' left arm. Back and forth, back and forth, until the stairs felt like home and her paws began to ache. To James, who had always known where to pet her, then Lily, who hadn't at all. To James, who had exuded life and laughter, then Lily, who had been all that _love _was supposed to be. To James, _still_, then Lily, _silent_. To James, who had always known he was special, then Lily, who had needed another to let her know. The world would remember them.

Athena had been special too, once, but there was nobody left to remember that now.

Too big for Cokeworth, too small for Godric's Hollow.


End file.
